The Prince
by Harry Morgan Le Fay
Summary: What does it mean to be a prince? What does it mean to be a dragon? What is the meaning of "The prince that was promised"? Who wrote "The song of ice and fire"? A prince; the second son of the court who is as intelligent as his brother, as loving as his mother, as mad as his father and with heroic memories of another world will be the answer to these questions.


I do not own Harry Potter, A Song of Ice and Fire or Game of Thrones.

 _Beta_ \- AminaS

"Speech"

 _'Thoughts'_

 _Flashback_

Warning - Bad Language and some sexual content.

There will be elements from both the Song of Ice and Fire books and the television series just to let everyone know.

OOC Reincarnated Harry. Harry machiavellian. Harry Dragonrider!

* * *

 _Finally, he had accepted the inevitable reality of his own mortality. Harry came to the realization that this was the end; that he would not survive. His last task was to go quietly into the inviting arms of death. Harry walked through the forest aware that he was the last link Voldemort had to life. He went to his last destination defenseless and unwilling to raise his arm to protect himself, wanting the end to come without hindrance. The prophecy that should have come to fruition in Godric's Hollow was fulfilled this time: "... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ..."_

 _Harry walked bravely with a composure that would be the envy of any thoroughbred aristocrat. Perhaps the cause of his calm attitude was the belief that his friends would overcome the grief of his death. Perhaps it the fact that he told Neville about the snake Nagini, thus ensuring the destruction of the last two horcruxes that tethered Voldemort to this earthly plane, that brought Harry peace. However, he mainly attributed his peace of mind to the presence of his parents, Sirius, and Remus as he trekked through the forest, a magic only possible through the second Deathly Hallow, the Resurrection Stone. His conversation with them brought him to this state of peace and acceptance of his fate._

 _It was cold and dark. The ancient trees that surrounded him on all sides had tangled branches and roots full of knots that went deep into the ground. Harry tighten the invisibility cloak closer to his body as he went deeper into the forest and into the darkness. He had no idea of the exact place where he would find Voldemort._

 _Harry had lost all concept of time, with each of his actions become mechanical, and without thought. He had lost all desire to live after coming to the revelation of the necessity of his death. It was a revelation he had been forced to face in the pensieve of Snape's memories. He was on autopilot, and so did not stop when he saw a light ahead leading him to the clearing he recognized as the habitat of the acromantula, Aragog. There was a fire in the middle of the clearing, and its flickering light illuminated a crowd of Death Eaters. Some wore masks and hoods, while others showed their faces to the world, unafraid in the presence and power of the Dark Lord._

 _Voldemort was standing with his head held high and his hands folded over the Elder Wand in front of his chest. Behind him, slithering up a tree, still alive and well, was the Horcrux snake, Nagini._

 _"There is no sign of him, my lord," reported a masked Death Eater._

 _The expression on Voldemort's face did not change, his red eyes glittering in the firelight. He held the Elder Wand between his long fingers._

 _"My lord ...," Bellatrix Lestrange tried to speak. She was sitting next to Voldemort, disheveled, her face a little spotty, but other aspects untouched._

 _The dark lord raised his hand to silence her, and she said nothing, but looked at him with fascinated worship._

 _"I thought he would come," he commented with a clear, high voice, his eyes focused on the fire._

 _No one else spoke. Everyone seemed as scared as Harry, whose heart was beating ever stronger in his chest. His hands were sweaty, and he took off the Invisibility Cloak and put it with his wand inside his robes. He did not want to be tempted to fight._

 _"Apparently, I was wrong." Voldemort said again._

 _"You did not get cheated." Harry spoke, and became visible to his enemies. The Resurrection Stone slipped from his numb fingers and out the corner of his eye, he saw his parents, Sirius, and Lupin disappear. However, he focused on his enemy, nothing mattered but Voldemort._

 _The Death Eaters rose together, and Harry heard many cries, gasps and even giggles. Voldemort was static where he was, but his red eyes were focused on Harry, and watched as the boy walked toward him without demarcation to separate them._

 _Then a voice cried._

 _"Harry! No!" It was the desperate voice of Hagrid, who was on his knees and tied to a nearby tree. His thick body shook the branches at the top as he struggled desperately._

 _"No! No! Harry, you should not here ..."_

 _"Shut up, you bloody mongrel!" Bellowed a Death Eater holding him with a rope, and with a flick of her wand silenced Hagrid._

 _Harry felt his wand but made no attempt to draw it. He knew that the snake was too well protected and even if he pointed his wand at Nagini, dozens of spells would reach him first. Voldemort and Harry stared at one another. The stillness only broken by the Dark Lord tilting his head slightly to the side, as he scrutinized the boy standing in front of him. A singular, joyless smile appeared in the corner of his mouth._

 _"Harry Potter ...," the evilest wizard since Gellert Grindelwald spoke, "The Boy Who Lived."_

 _None of the Death Eaters moved. Voldemort raised his wand. His head was still tilted to one side, like a curious child, as though he was wondering what would happen if he continued._

 _Harry stared at the red eyes and wished he was dead at that moment. He wanted it to happen quickly, and while he remained courageously standing. It had to happen before he lost control to his basic survival instinct and renounced death due to his fear._

 _"AVADA KEDAVRA." He heard the pure rage in the voice of his to-be killer._

 _Harry saw a familiar green flash coming in his direction. He closed his eyes saying his last words._

 _"I hope find them on the other side, Father, Mother ..." And suddenly everything went black._

283 AC

Aerion awoke with a start. He had been startled out of deep sleep into a state of full wakefulness. He yawned, noting the rising sun's rays slipping through a small slit in the wall immediately adjacent to him. It was the beginning of a new day.

He sighed and rubbed his face slowly with the palm of his hand. Again, this dream.

 _"You're not dreaming, Aerion. They are visions! Visions of a past life,"_ Quaithe, also known as Quaithe of the Shadow, a shadowbinder from Asshai, had informed him once.

His dreams or vivid visions detailed the entirety of a life in the body of Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived and, in the end, ... Boy Who Died! It was a reoccurring theme every time he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Harry Potter. It was a name set firmly in the past, one worthy of being remembered only in dreams and nightmares. However, sometimes, he had visions of a Weasley family, of a boy named Neville, and a dreamy girl who seemed to be born into his family, named Luna. But the one featured most prominently in his dreams of the other life was a young woman, very intelligent and talkative: _Hermione._

The know-it-all witch played an essential role in the life of Harry Potter. From the first year when he protected the philosopher's stone from Voldemort to the quest that culminated in the final battle of Hogwart. Hermione helped him and encouraged him to study and train faithfully. Harry had trained and studied everything, without exception. Just as his studies deepened into the magical arts, he also devoted some time to learning all about the non-magical world: martial arts, history, geography, science, philosophy, philology ... anything that could be useful or which he considered profitable against his enemy, Voldemort.

Perhaps all his dedication spent in study time with Hermione did not help him when he lived in the role of Harry Potter, however it proved its worth in this new world and this new life, where he carried the responsibility and weight of the name Targaryen.

He initially could not believe it, when with a wave of his hand and some mental consternation as he visualized the spell " _Wingardium Leviosa",_ he had levitated a small rock, early in his childhood in the Red Keep. Nor could he stop his incredulity when he used his magic during the Tourney at Storm's End in the year 278. He had approached the reigning Lord, his father, harshly. His tongue laced with insulting curses, he considered the eyes of his progenitor and actively used legilimency, drawing a scared feeling from the Mad King. Aerion threatened him with terrible things, if he would attack and humiliate the Lady, his mother, in front of him and the vassals ever again.

278 was the year he decided to venture across the strait sea and seek answers to his nocturnal visions of a skinny lad of green eyes and to discover the source of his strange power. He also had another reason for his self-inflicted exile, to avoid becoming a Kinslayer. Aerion hated his father, King Aerys II, with all his heart, and despised his brother, Rhaegar. After all, it was his brother who ignored the suffering of their mother at the hands of her mad husband. The melancholy prince had a strange fascination with prophecies, and Aerion suspected that his brother considered himself "The Prince that was Promised," or at least that the savior hero would come out of his seed.

"The song of ice and fire."Aerion thought. He was inwardly disdainful of the delusions of grandeur his brother held. Rhaegar lived with an expression of mourning permanently etched on his face. As if some burden of the gods were upon his shoulders. It was as if Rhaegar lived in a world where he was an only child; that both Aerion and Viserys were not born of the lineage of Jaehaerys II Targaryen.

 _'Foolish brother, you are called 'The Dragon Prince, but the lords, knights, women and smallfolk who gave you this alias, have no idea what a real Dragon is.'_ Aerion's eyes flashed, like a volcano erupting in flames.

Yes, Aerion was among those who held no admiration for Rhaegar Targaryen. The second son of King Aerys II and Queen Rhaella, completely despised his older brother. He was not ashamed of it nor did he hold any regrets. Maybe if he were still Harry Potter he would have put a smile on his face and forgiven all of Rhaegar's neglect and severe attitude towards him as a child, just as his counterpart forgave Ronald Weasley and Albus Dumbledore. Perhaps if the blood of the Potter family still ran through his veins, he would forgive and love his crazy father who psychologically intimidated him, just as the Boy-Who-Survived, forgave the Dursley family, despite them treating him like a lord treats his slaves in the Free Cities.

However, Harry Potter was firmly in the past. As he learned by studying his own visions, he was a reincarnation. He was now Aerion Targaryen, with a different culture, different morals, different ambitions and a different appearance than the boy wizard.

Harry Potter easily forgave, lived happily among commoners, was malleable, hated to stand out, fell in love easily, would give his life to save another's without receiving anything in return, and wanted to live a common life among the sheep without much prominence. Aerion Targaryen never forgets an affront, is proud to be blue-blooded, is adamant, wants to be someone other than a second son, is not afraid to sacrifice and use his servants, dreams of building a New Valyria, and undoubtedly believes in the superiority of Valyrian blood.

His name had an ambiguous meaning, as it was used for several of his predecessors. Aerion; a name of a superior stock, father of Aegon the Conqueror, father of the Queens Rhaenys and Visenya. He was the devoted husband of Valaena Velaryon, a father present for his bastard son, Orys Baratheon or Orys One-Hand. An interesting dichotomy indeed. Aerion; Prince Aerion Targaryen, also known as Aerion the Monstrous, or Aerion Brightflame, as he liked to call himself, was the second son of King Maekar I Targaryen. Aerion was one of the most notable examples of the madness that can reach the members of his Targaryen House. Cruel and disingenuous, he thought he was a dragon in human form.

Quaithe had confessed to him that Harry Potter was his balance point. The green-eyed boy was the judge of his actions, and that in the future, his past in another world would help him keep his mind balanced between overt compassion and cruel indifference. Between light and darkness, in the middle and in equality. In the gray; the world he lives is in a gray zone, where it is difficult to decide the line between what is right and what is wrong. It was frivolous to point out something as clearly bad or obviously good.

His thoughts returned to the subject of his upcoming adventure. Four years had passed between his training as a warrior in the Free Cities. He strengthened his magic in the city of Asshai and in the terrible lands of N'ghai and Mossovy. He thought of having to survive bravely in Cannibal Sands in Eastern Essos. The inhabitants of Cannibal Sands consumed human flesh. Aerion had fled King's Landing in 279, at the age of fourteen, and came back a changed man. At the end, all this knowledge of him as Harry Potter came in handy...

Aerion shook his head suddenly.

The Prince Targaryen got up slowly, giving time to his body to adjust to the new position. He was naked as he walked by the room, provided to him by the locals to sleep in. It was a cabin of a pirate ship. The place was practically empty, except for the bed and a mirror next the door of a bathroom. The wooden wall of the cabin appeared to be very fragile. He went to the bathroom door and put a hand on the latch that looked delicate. He pushed the door into the small blue room where there was just enough room for him to complete his morning hygiene routine. He could hear his own breathing, echoing in the tiny bathroom.

Directly from the bathroom, Aerion went to the mirror, and stood reveling in his appearance. The green-eyed boy of his visions had not been vain, but that was because Harry Potter had nothing to boast about with that small stature, and plebeian physiognomy. However, Aerion Targaryen was magnificent, an exotic draconian mystery of the blood of Old Valyria.

The essential feature of his beauty was undoubtedly his cheekbones, high and steep that pressed against intense eyes situated prominently on a handsome, smooth face. His pale skin caused his exuberant his pink lips to appear a little thick. He had purple eyes inherited from the dragonlords of the Old Sea. They were narrow cut and simply magical. Eyes whose mysterious color conveys real dignity, which ventures like the lemurs through the forest of Qohor, with its slender hirsute bodies of silvery white fur, and purple curious external organ of sight. The width of the upper part of the face, the small thin nose, everything, even the pink whiteness of the skin and the healthy complexion, only made his physiognomy more sublime. The full platinum-white hair was his his upper waist. Aerion had a muscular body outlined almost perfectly. His body was well distributed complementing his tall stature of 6 feet and 7 inches.

Aerion's attention was diverted from the mirror when he heard a sound of a door creaking and female voices singing out into the room:

" _There were nine pirates on the deck._

 _Swinging can echoes in the air_

 _And the wind in the bow drove the ship_

 _And cast their voices to the sea:_

 _"Life is cruel, no pity for us_

 _Blind our eyes, shut our voice_

 _She wants us together to be so alone_

 _She comes slowly and flees fast. "_

 _"My name is Korra, I'm the daughter of a healer. I left my parents, and I abandoned my fiancé at the wedding time. Yes, ma'am! I have the arrow to break Your heart, wealth is emotion. And my only comfort is when I turn another man into a eunuch in my basement. "_

 _Made the wind that carries the ship_

 _The verses followed the sea_

 _There were nine canechoes rolling the deck,_

 _And the Pirates on the floor singing:_

 _"Life is cruel, and flees Swift_

 _She comes slowly, shuts our voice_

 _Blind our eyes, don't pity us_

 _She wants us together to be so alone! "_

Aerion felt a chill after listening of the song and quickly hid his genitals with his hands.

"You are the only man on the four continents of this world who need not fear castration on our ships ... Though, my girls are controlling themselves not to castrate the other male who unfortunately makes use of this ship." He heard an austere female voice coming from behind him.

Aerion turned to find the owner of the voice leaning against his doorway. The woman was severe, yet sensual with a ruthless kind of beauty. Her long silver-gold hair was tied into rings adding to the beauty of a pair of purple, hungry eyes which solidified her mystical appearance. The small scar of a sword cut on her left cheek made her even more desirable. He knew very well of the woman standing before him.

Korra, known as Lady Korra and Korra the Cruel, was a female pirate of Dagger Lake. Her ship, Hag's Teeth, was crewed by beautiful young maids who cut off the dicks of all the men they capture. Korra appeared to be a little over twenty years old.

"We are approaching our destination."

Now, with Korra's presence in his cabin, he remembered his current location and where he was going. Aerion was traveling specifically to his homeland of birth. His family dynasty was in danger of extinction, that's what some spies in King's Landing said. Quaithe also informed him a few moons ago that the Seven Kingdoms would enter a great conflict. A rebellion caused by a mistaken decision by the Crown prince, his brother. Aerion had the choice of continuing his journey through the Four corners of the world and claiming the Iron Throne for himself decades later, or correcting his brother's folly, but in the end, he would not have a crown adorning his head.

'Not every king wears a crown.' It was his simple answer when he was arranging his belongings to leave for Westeros. Aerion could feel when the Shadowbinder smiled with approval from inside his red lacquered wooden mask. And for a few seconds between the openings of the woman's eyes, he imagined having seen a pair of different eyes between the dark red mask: One blue, the other green.

Aerion snorted contemptuously at the motive for the rebellion.

The truth was that there was a tournament at Harrenhal two years ago, in the year of the false spring. An event the Prince of Dragonstone, his brother, had secretly organized and funded, as a pretext to meet with the great lords of the kingdom to discuss the organization of a great Council and the removal of his father. However, he did not count on the presence of the Lord, his father. Anyway, so far so good. Aerion also thought his father's time sitting on the Iron Throne had passed, and agreed with his brother that their father must be replaced.

But, no! Rhaegar ruined everything. Rhaegar relentlessly defeated all his opponents in the tournament. Ser Arthur Dayne, who had never lost a sparring to the prince, was, for the first time, among those who succumbed the joust to his brother. When taking the winter rose crown for the Queen of Love and Beauty, his brother ignored his own wife, and instead named a young girl, Lyanna Stark, who was betrothed to their cousin, Robert Baratheon.

What the hell! What was his brother's goal? Why humiliate his Dornish wife in front of several important lords? Why show interest in a girl from the north and at the same gain the antipathy of the future husband of the woman he desires and of his allies? A completely stupid action, worthy of an illiterate plebeian.

Was his plan to divide and rule? Did Rhaegar want to fragment the big houses with the intention of weakening the regions of the seven Kingdoms and governing freely?

No! the answer is " _No!"._ Rhaegar was not Aerion, his brother had no machiavellian spirit. He was very idealistic and confident in what fate had in store for himself. The prophecy! A Song of Ice and Fire. Ice was the North and fire was the Targaryen Dragon. Probably this was the interpretation of the prophecy favored by Rhaegar, where "The Prince that was Promised" would be born of a relationship between him and the girl in the North.

Aerion knew his brother very well. He was sure that there was no kidnapping nor rape. Rhaegar had an enviable oratory, and probably persuaded in spectacular fashion Lady Stark. Promising the world for the young girl she-wolf. His spies confirmed that the girl from the North was unsatisfied with the engagement to Cousin Baratheon, and it was clear that his brother offered an outlet for the daughter of Lord Stark. Nonetheless, while it may even be that Rhaegar took great care of the girl, but love her? No. Absolutely not!

Aerion lost concentration when felt Korra's hand on his six-pack and pecs.

Aerion took her by the waist looking into those eyes that begged to fuck her in that booth now, the two had been flirting for the past fortnight. His lips were on hers suddenly, no words needed to be said. He started kissing her slowly, increasing the pace gradually. They kissed, feeling as if was the ultimate moment of both in the world. The tongue of Korra regaled while exploring his entire mouth. Her eyes exhibited a malicious glint that didn't frighten but managed to hypnotize him even more. Among the teeth she whispered to him sensually:

"Make me yours now"

Aerion caressed her body and at the same time undressed her. The top of his clothes fell at the waist and then further down. He stopped for a moment to fondle her back, the curve of her waist...

Aerion ended up taking all his clothes off and leaving her naked. He held Korra in his lap walking up to his bed and laid her on the mattress.

"Beautiful!" Aerion said as he looked with dry mouth. He held out his hand touching her pale skin circling his fingers through some scars lean and fit body, she had steel muscle, the grace of a panther and the strength of a lion. He looked at the big pair of breasts with huge pink nipples. He stroked her breast with one hand and his fingers grazed her nipple, making her moan. The fingers of his other hand, slipped through the folds... The female pirate writhed in pleasure and pushing her hips violently forward.

 ** _xxx_**

As the birds flew in circles over the fresh air in Blackwater Bay, a state of tension hovered over the Narrow Sea cove. To the north between the castle of Casa Rosby, it was clear even in the distance to see the men attentively looking at the sea waiting for any attack at any time. At the same time other men disappeared through the walls of one of the parts of the Crownlands.

 _'Time and the tide do not wait for anyone. This is an ageless adage. '_ Aerion remembered the saying.

Aerion was wearing a black dragon scales shirt and his hands were covered by a pair of red leather gloves, a blood-colored leather skirt hung on his waist, covering his knees like fire. Black leather boots complemented the tight black dragon-scaleskin trousers he wore under the skirt to complete his attire. Stuck on the left side of the skirt was a thin leather brown sheath with a Valyrian steel Greatsword. Only the red fist adorned with runes and dragon drawings was visible at first glance. On the right side of the skirt, there was a black curled whip. Trapped tightly against his neck was a silver choker containing an oily black stone.

He stretched his right arm to the holster and held a weapon firmly in his fist. It was a six-foot-tall staff. It was a work of art, well almost that, most would say a work of horror. Macabre! The rod was all black, encrusted with bloodstains along it, and at whose upper extremity possessed a human skull with two ruby stones adorned as eyes. Closing his eyes could feel the magical connection between him and the staff, coursing through his body, touching his soul, whispering with delight and distributing power within his hidden nature. Aerion opened his eyes and fixed his gaze upon the skull, remembering how he came to find it. That was two years ago. In Sothoryos, he took a risk on small excursions alone for a few months, and discovered a small sinister village. Sometime later he discovered that Yeen was the name of the village. Situated within that place was a small mansion built entirely of oily black stone. Let's say it wasn't pretty, if he wasn't magically skilled, we would say that his life in this world would be short. The place was infested with curses, infested with evil spirits, activated rituals of blood magic and corpses scattered as offers for necromancy. And on an obscure throne of bones, motionless, was a bizarre skull with dark smoke coming out of its interior, and the putrid smell at the scene completed the allegory within such a scenario.

"The power emanating from it is unbelievable." He whispered as he inspected the rod. And like a wand, the accessory in his hands helped in controlling and balancing the user's magic. Its elemental control was at a very high level, especially to evoke fire and shadows. He also discovered the ability to curse spirits to attack his enemies. They were bizarre-looking humanoid spectres. He was acutely aware that his knowledge of black magic was much greater than the so-called good spells. Nonetheless, the concept of good or evil, was not relevant within the four continents of this world. Most of the magic here was brutal, sacrificial, and hostile.

"Then we finally arrived in the capital of the Seven Kingdoms ... King's Landing." It was the voice of Korra, who appeared at his side looking fearfully at his staff.

Aerion moved away from the bulwark and forced himself to smile.

"Your girls have worked well for us, Korra. Each one of them will receive some golden dragons as a sign of my gratitude."

Korra gave her a small smile.

"It's too generous, Prince Aerion. The honor of defending your family's legacy is all the reward we need."

Korra wrapped her arm around his waist and made him lean forward a little. She whispered in his ear:

"However, we are on the path of a war and we are not sure if we will be alive at the end of it. If we survive, you can reward me in your chambers inside that fortress in front of us, "she then nibbled her ear, making him give a little moan. "Although, I have to admit that your staff is scary. Even to me that I am known as, "The Cruel", she ended the discussion with a chill coming down her spine as she briefly faced the skull.

Korra moved away with only a slight movement of her hips. She swung her arm in the direction of Aerion, thrusting her hand into his.

"We have a deal." She spoke amicably with a satisfied smile. "I talked to my girls and decided to accept your offer to command your naval fleet whether on any land you will live on." Korra concluded immediately, looking at him, expecting his reply.

Aerion was surprised by the news. He always admired the way Korra lived in freedom, without ties and attachments to trap her inside a house as a lady, or into doing services in brothels, or within a religious service or something like that because the culture they lived had few alternatives for women. Albeit, there had been women who have caused significant impact in the past. Visenya and Rhaenys were a great example. He was going to ask if that's what the pirate wanted, but was silenced when she signaled him to stay quiet.

"Listen to Me, Aerion..." Korra spoke in a monochrome voice. She took a break while King's landing appeared in sight, upon her three great hills.

Two hundred and eighty-five years ago, Korra knew, those heights had been covered with forest, and only a handful of fisherfolk had lived on the north shore of the Blackwater Rush where that deep, swift river flowed into the sea. Then Aegon the Conqueror had sailed from Dragonstone. It was here that his army had put ashore, and there on the highest hill that he built his first crude redoubt of wood and earth.

Now the city covered the shore as far as Korra could see; manses and arbors and granaries, brick storehouses and timbered inns and merchant's stalls, taverns and graveyards and brothels, all piled one on another. Between the buildings were broad roads lined with trees, wandering crookback streets, and alleys so narrow that two men could not walk abreast. Visenya's hill was crowned by the Great Sept of Baelor with its seven crystal towers. Across the city on the hill of Rhaenys stood the blackened walls of the Dragonpit, its huge dome collapsing into ruin, its bronze doors closed now for a century. The Street of the Sisters ran between them, straight as an arrow. The city walls rose in the distance, high and strong.

And above it all, frowning down from Aegon's high hill, was the Red Keep; seven huge drum-towers crowned with iron ramparts, an immense grim barbican, vaulted halls and covered bridges, barracks and dungeons and granaries, massive curtain walls studded with archers' nests, all fashioned of pale red stone. Aegon the Conqueror had commanded it built. His son, Maegor the Cruel, had seen it completed. Afterward, he had taken the heads of every stonemason, woodworker, and builder who had labored on it. Only the blood of the dragon would ever know the secrets of the fortress the Dragonlords had built, he vowed.

Korra sighed running a hand through hair, later returning her attention to the man in front. Shaking his head when she realized she had spaced again, noticing that her was being influenced by the mannerism of his friend. Looking into the eyes of your listener, the female pirate decided to give an end this matter.

"It's not about you saved my life and helped me at the worst time of my I will always be grateful for everything you've done to me. But, I like challenges, I managed to build a reputation, Korra the Cruel. " She commented with a small laugh as she wiped the sweat from her face from the high temperature of early afternoon which hit the top of the ship's side. "I want to contribute to something, I will be the only woman who commands the naval fleet of a Prince Targaryen, no more stealing, plundering, cutting off the dicks of males...," she continued, "Well, that part I'm not sure of, and also ... so you remember the story of Prince Aerion the Monstrous? " Korra asked a little embarrassed.

"After the Ashford Tourney, he was sent to Lys by Prince Maekar." Answered the young Targaryen.

"He stayed for a few years in Lys and ended up getting a lot of attention from women of the Free Cities. One of the Prince's favorite, was the owner of a pillow house. This woman was my grandmother. My Ancestry has traces of Valyrian, which goes beyond being a Lyseni. "

Aerion was silent for a moment in complete surprise. It was possible that his namesake had children while living in Lys. But for fate to put his granddaughter in his path...

He propped his staff aside and pulled the woman into a tight hug. He stroked Korra's face with his hands and stared at her. Her smile was soft and inviting, telling him in every way she would always be available when he needed her. She exuded a feminine odor of fresh jungle, and the sharp and salty water of the sea in which they sailed.

He pulled her aside, pointing his index finger, smiling contentedly at the fleet of ships with the Sable, a dragon thrice-headed gules, floating above the masts.

"You have kept my instructions in mind...?" She nodded. "If you look over my shoulder, you will see a whaler with the blackened hulk of tar resting on a dock with half the ceiling missing. A man covered by a heavy gray cloak will be his guide, his features they are hidden by a hood. "

"Wait!" Korra exclaimed energetically. Looking at Aerion with suspicion.

"How will I and my girls go inside the capital unnoticed? Did you forget that your family's castle is protected by guards on alert and waiting for an attack at any moment?" The female pirate asked pointedly.

Aerion laughed before crossing his arms.

"Red Keep has hidden passageways known only by ghosts and spiders," he simply replied, looking at the oak door that was the entrance to one of the aisles of the ship.

"Qyburn, bring me the horn now!" Prince Targaryen shouted, taking some distance from the pirate.

Korra was suddenly aroused, leaning her back against the ship's rail and looking at Aerion hastily.

"You will summon your children ... I think I will wait a little longer to fulfill my duty"

Suddenly a door opened abruptly on the deck.

"Here, my prince." Said a tired male voice firmer at the same time.

The voice was of a tall man, slightly curved with some wrinkles around his warm blue eyes. He had gray hair, a thin frame and looked paternal. The man wore black robes torn, worn and badly sewn like a maester. In his hands was a horn with 6.0 feet in length. It was a large dragon horn with Valyrian glyphs written on it. It had a black sheen and was marked with red gold and Valyrian steel. Its surface was bright and reflective, although the reflection it made was somewhat distorted. The bands of the horn were covered by strange writings, Valyrian glyphs.

"You will come with me, Qyburn. I fear that your help will be indispensable where I will be going." Aerion spoke, grabbing the horn from the old man's hands. The prince lifted the horn to his mouth.

Suddenly, the recess and sadness of a voice, a warm and trembling cry that made the bones of all present in Hag's Teeth and surroundings seem to vibrate within them ... It was the horn of hell. As the horn sounded incessantly, the glyphs glowed like ember.

A storm formed in the bay, it was stimulating, intoxicating, a sudden storm that bathed all the crew aboard the Hag's Teeth and all the fleet that accompanied them. After a few minutes the course of violent upheaval changed going in the direction of the Blackwater Rush. Yet the water had been choppy, and the air temperature was scorching and the wind howled fiercely as the waves crashed against the hull of the ships.

Suddenly, a primitive roar, louder and more resonant than anything the crew had ever heard in their lives. It was like thunder, ripping the sky apart.

Aerion opened his eyes and looked up at the heavens, and moments later, a second cry is heard, and a third, even worse than the previous two, with such ferocity, such power.

Dragons.

As the dragons approached the ship that was Aerion, their wings caused ripples on the surface of the water.

And there were the three dragons flying over Blackwater Bay. Prince Targaryen laughed contemptuously when he spotted the Royal fleet fleeing back to the harbor as it approached. Even with his fleet having the standard of his house extended. The dragons are a wonder. It enforces respect of both enemies and allies.

He looked at his children. After Aegon's Conquest, dragons of immense size have never appeared. During the post-conquest years, the dragons were shrinking until the sudden disappearance.

To the left was the smallest of them, scales and gold-gold eyes: Surya.

To his right was the antithesis of the golden dragon. A little larger with scales and silver eyes, her mouth was large enough to swallow a horse if was hungry: Selene.

"Ancalagon." Aerion said, looking at the last dragon. It was black as night, and his eyes were as blood-red. The smoke coming from his nostrils did not soothe the fear the crew had of each ship in the vicinity. Ancalagon was huge, as big as a mountain.

The black dragon leaned over so that its dragonrider climbed on its broad back and settled. Aerion climbed over the ship's rail, balancing himself upright before jumping over the dragon's head and grabbing the saddle that was stuck to the magical creature.

"How are you, boy?" The prince asked in High Valyrian as he slid his gloved hands over the creature's warm scales.

The dragon released a large amount of smoke from the nostrils, showing dissatisfaction.

"I know, kid, I promise I'll pay more attention to you and your two siblings." answered and let out a small laugh as the creature turned its huge head to the side not wanting any more talk.

Aerion leaned down, stretching his hand close to the rail of Korra ship.

"Hold my firm hand, Qyburn." He commanded the old man, who was fearful and obeyed the prince's orders, and held his hand with a kind of fear. The master who was exiled from Oldtown, was aware of the rebirth of the dragons, but he had never been so close to his prince's children before.

Aerion helped the old man tie his chain in the saddle firmly, before looking at the female pirate, who gazed back at him admiringly on the deck of Hag's Teeth.

"Do not die, after all, you are my blood, Korra Targaryen." And he laughed cheerfully when, Ancalagon, flexed his strong muscles by leaping into the air and immediately captured the air beneath his wings. Climbing directly into the sky accompanied by his two minors brothers. Aerion and Qyburn plunged into the clouds where the icy wind was still blowing strong, though not so much to the point of harming the flight.

Ancalagon, Surya and Selene flapped their wings in the direction of King's Landing.

Aerion narrowed his eyes as he approached the Red Keep, he looked strictly at Maegor's Holdfast, specifically at the royal apartment, the King's bedchamber.

If he were paying attention to the capital when the shadow of his dragons took over the city, he would see that thousands of people walked the streets in a commotion, while everyone looked at the dragons with varying expressions.

But Aerion did not want to know that. He was looking at a bedchamber, directly in the windows, when he noticed the shadow of a female figure and a small boy.

The figure was a woman clearly, and the moment she looked in her direction, she put her hands on her chest, and looked moved. Like a long-lost connection. However, it was very fast the scene, like a lapse. Ancalagon and his brothers were already leaving the capital of Westeros, and the prince held firmly the dragon's saddle.

"Mother." whispered affected, and his eyes were swollen with water.

He had somewhere else to go first. His spies told him that his brother, Rhaegar, was hiding in the Red Mountains of Dorne. In a tower guarded by Kingsguard.

"This war has to end as quickly as possible. Rhaegar needs to shoulder his responsibilities. My family's legacy will remain alive, even if it's about Fire and Blood. That, I promise. ' It was the prince's last thoughts, Aerion. Meanwhile their dragons flew to the southern.

* * *

 _End of chapter_

AN: Who does Aerion look like? I would say like the Swedish model Emil Andersson. As for Korra, well, something close to Ellen Hollman (Saxa of Spartacus).


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